


infallible weakness

by jilliancares



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Holding Hands, M/M, Muggle London, Muggle Studies, Muggle Technology, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: It's two years after the war and Hogwarts has called back all the students who didn't graduate for their Eighth-Year. Nowadays, Muggle Studies is a requirement. And Draco needs a partner for this field trip.





	infallible weakness

**Author's Note:**

> DRARRY!!! OH, HOW I'VE MISSED THEM. big big thanks to @shellstain12 on tumblr for commissioning me!!! shelly, you've always got the best prompts and never fail to remind me how much i love drarry. i hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> pls comment and lmk what you think! <3

Over the years, Draco had learned to accept defeat when trying to earn the highest score in the classes he shared with Hermione Granger. At first, it had angered him to no end, especially because he was born into magic and she was just learning it for the first time, somehow keeping up with his grades and occasionally even _surpassing_ them.

But he’d gotten over it. There were more important things in life, like avoiding Potter and his endless nosiness and trying his best to please the Dark Lord so as not to be murdered. Or at least, that’s what had been important to him during his sixth year.

Now, two years after the war and having been forced to return to Hogwarts for the newly instated eighth-year (which was ridiculous, honestly, because he’d already secured a job as an Auror’s apprentice and had been learning more than he would ever learn here), he was struggling. Not in all of his classes, obviously. He’d spent years studying, it wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to do it.

No, it was just stupid _Muggle Studies_. Don’t get him wrong, he’d learned a lot in the years since the war, and he was endlessly grateful for being spared from the same punishment his father had been forced into (only 7 more years at Azkaban, with good behavior). He knew now that it was wrong to hate Muggles – they were born into a magicless life the same way he’d been born into a magical one. But even still, he wished he didn’t have to take this fucking class.

Maybe he was only so upset because it was so _difficult_. Why should he care about the intricacies of Muggle-life when he was never going to experience them himself? Why did he have to understand them? Was it not enough to accept them, or even ignore them?

Of course, what made this all worse was the fact that Potter – _Potter_ – was doing better in the class than him. Sure, it made sense – he’d grown up as a fucking Muggle, after all. But Draco was used to being top of the class, bar Granger. He wasn’t about to watch himself be surpassed by _Potter_. That was just unacceptable.

Funnily enough, there just wasn’t the same animosity between them anymore. Maybe it had something to do with growing up. Maybe it had something to do with both surviving through the war, with escaping from a burning room and the Dark Lord together.

When Draco had gotten the letter demanding he return to Hogwarts (nowhere near as exciting as the letter he’d received as an eleven-year-old), he hadn’t known what exactly to think about the whole ordeal. He’d seen Potter a few times since the war – the Savior was often in and out of the Ministry of Magic, though Draco had no idea what his actual job was. He was probably just sitting in hearings and sparing the lives of Death Eaters who didn’t deserve it. They’d also run into each other in Diagon Alley – twice, actually.

The first time had been exceedingly awkward. The second, awkward but cordial.

Now that they saw each other every day, there was none of that awkwardness anymore. It was obvious that Potter enjoyed being back at Hogwarts, and all the younger students loved it too. Draco had seen him teaching First-Years _Expelliarmus_ before, which probably wasn’t actually the best idea, but Potter was just doing what he knew best. Not that these children should have any need to grow up learning to fight like they had.

Since the war, Draco had let his hair grow out. Maybe it was some kind of subconscious statement, letting it grow long like his father’s. Or maybe he just liked the way he could do more with it.

Potter, on the other hand, seemed to have simply forgotten that haircuts were a thing that could even happen. Draco would think his hair were an absolute rat’s nest if he weren’t so intrigued by it. Potter didn’t seem to like having his hair in his face, so it was almost always pulled back in some sort of horribly messy bun, the likes of someone who’s never had to put hair in a ponytail before.

It looked good.

Anyway, Muggle Studies. Potter excelling. The world turning upside down.

Draco realized he’d zoned out when there was suddenly an excited clamor of students, overwhelming Professor Burbage.

“Right now?” someone said.

“Will it really take all afternoon?” said Granger, sounding worried. “Our other classes…”

“Have made allowances for our field trip,” Burbage interrupted. Granger still looked worried.

As Draco listened, he discovered that they would apparently be taking a Portkey to Muggle London for the afternoon, responsible for observing the Muggles. Later they’d have to turn in an essay about what they’d learned and how they’d observed the Muggles getting around not having magic.

Burbage gave them a few minutes to find partners, which everyone seemed stunned by, for a second. In past years, professors had usually assigned them partners, all across the board. But they were adults now, only here because Hogwarts had just opened up again this year, after all the damages had been repaired.

Draco swallowed his nerves and stood from his seat, heading towards Potter and his little group.

This year, the Eighth-Years weren’t part of any house. Their class was much smaller than it’d used to be (some students had refused to return, others were in Azkaban, and others still were dead) and so they’d been given their own house, of sorts.

Most students tended to give Draco a wide berth, as well as any others who’d supported the wrong side during the war. But Potter – perhaps the person who had the most reason to hold a grudge – was the most forgiving. They’d shared a few conversations since returning to Hogwarts, and even Granger and Weasley didn’t bother to glare at him any longer.

“Granger,” Draco said, standing beside their table. This grabbed all of their attention, their heads turning towards him in unison. “Muggle Studies is…” _beneath me_, said a distant part of him, “harder than I thought,” he said instead. “Perhaps you could tutor me for this assignment.”

“You mean be partners?” Granger said. Draco shrugged.

“Whatever you want to call it.”

“Sorry, Malfoy,” Weasley said. He had a hand settled possessively on Granger’s knee, as if Draco would really try to steal his girlfriend. Honestly, hadn’t he noticed that all the other purebloods their age (those that weren’t the Weasleys, anyway) had gone and gotten hitched already? Obviously, there was a reason Draco wasn’t one of them. And honestly, that was only possible because his father was a little too occupied with the Dementors to pressure him into ignoring his _proclivities_, as he liked to call it. “Hermione’s already working with me.”

Draco pursed his lips. “Potter, then,” he said, turning his attention to him. He ignored the stupid way his heart seemed to speed up in his chest. And the weird look Granger was giving him. “You’ve got good grades in this class. Perhaps we could make some sort of arrangement. Partner with me for this field trip and I’ll work with you for our potions final. This time you won’t have another of your concoctions blow up in your face.”

“My tongue _was_ swollen for a week…” Potter hedged. Longbottom was eyeing Harry desperately from another row of tables, clearly hoping to work with him. Draco smoothly stepped to the side, obscuring him from Potter’s view. “Sure, why not?”

Draco didn’t breathe a sigh of relief, but only because he had control of himself. He sat down at Potter’s table as Burbage passed out the Portkeys, setting them in front of each pair.

“Go ahead and take hold of them now, they’ll be ready to leave in a minute. And don’t lose them! They’ll take you back at 4:00 sharp – it’s your own fault if you miss the Portkey.”

The two of them gripped opposite ends of the Portkey. A moment later, there was that familiar hook behind his navel and they were yanked elsewhere, stumbling to a stop in an alley. Potter looked around.

“I guess we all got sent to different places,” he mused. He poked his head out of the alley – the outside of which filled with those terrifying, mobile Muggle death-traps – before motioning to Draco. “Come on. We could go sit in a coffee shop.”

Draco followed reluctantly. “They’ll kick us out,” he argued. “We don’t have any Muggle money.”

“_You_ don’t have any Muggle money,” Potter corrected. “I always have some on me. I have a flat in Muggle London, actually.”

Draco actually faltered a step. “You do?” he said incredulously. “But… why?”

Potter shrugged. “It feels a little more peaceful, I guess. None of the Muggles know me. Not as anything other than their new neighbor, anyway.”

Draco felt… blindsided. He’d always assumed Potter loved the attention. Hell, how could he not? He practically had a fan club back at Hogwarts, and he was always appeasing them, staying and talking to all the kids who were endlessly fascinated by him.

Then again, that did sound exhausting.

A bell jingled above their heads as they stepped into the shop. Draco instantly felt anxious, surrounded by all the Muggles. There were a bunch of them in there. He and Potter weren’t wearing their robes, thank Merlin, but they still looked pretty out of place, with the rest of their Hogwarts uniform on.

None of the Muggles looked up from what they were doing, besides the one behind the counter.

“Hi, welcome to Bean Bar! What can I get for you today?”

Potter stepped right up to the counter, scanning the menu for half a moment before ordering something. Draco didn’t like coffee. Granted, he’d only ever had sips of his mother’s coffee (no cream, no sugar) and desperate mugs that he choked down when he was exhausted at Hogwarts, though Pansy had always ensured him that the coffee there was swill.

But before Draco could suggest that he didn’t want anything or try to blunder his way through the complicated-looking menu, Potter placed a second order and handed over a few pieces of paper. Draco watched the transaction in surprise.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said the moment the Muggle was gone, having disappeared to the other side of the counter to begin preparing their drinks.

“It’s not like you have any Muggle money on you,” Potter said with a shrug. Draco didn’t correct him.

They stood to the side while they waited for their drinks and Draco observed the Muggles like he was supposed to. Some of them were using that technology they’d learned about in class, taping away at little boxes or sitting in front of screens. Some of them were in groups, but others were alone except for their technology. One had a kid with them, a little girl that was studiously stacking packets of sugar while her parents talked over their drinks.

“This essay’s going to suck,” Draco announced. A Muggle came close to him to grab a straw from behind him, and Draco stepped towards Potter automatically. Their shoulders pressed together for a moment before Draco put distance between them again.

“How come?”

“Because none of them are doing anything,” Draco said snidely. “They’re all just sitting there.”

“Here you go!” said a voice from behind them, and Potter turned around, flashing the barista a bright smile before grabbing the drinks. He pressed one into Draco’s hand. It looked like a milkshake, a tower of whipped cream decorating the top of it.

“Is this coffee?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s a Frappuccino,” Potter said. “You’ll like it.”

Draco didn’t know how Potter could claim to know what he would or wouldn’t like, but he decided to believe him regardless. “And they are doing things,” Potter added, his voice lowered. “That guy’s watching a movie on his laptop. And it looks like she’s writing an essay.”

Draco frowned. “Where’s her paper?”

“She doesn’t need paper. You can write them on computers. Look at what they’re typing on.”

The girl was staring at the screen, not even looking at what her fingers were doing, but they were moving as if they had a mind of their own. When Draco looked closer, he realized words were appearing on the screen. How was she doing that?

“Come on,” Potter said, already turning towards the door. Draco almost argued – this had to be the best place to gather information for their essay, after all. Muggles had found a way to write essays without paper, that was _clearly_ their way of getting around their lack of magic. But he ended up following Potter anyway.

Draco took his first sip as they stepped out onto the street; it was delicious. He could barely manage to remove the straw from his mouth, despite the fact that Potter was trying to carry on a conversation.

The streets were full to the bursting with Muggles, similar to the way Diagon Alley usually looked. Many of them had their technology pressed to their ears, and they were talking into them for some reason.

At one point, Potter grabbed his elbow and dragged him to where a crowd was gathered.

“For my next magic trick…” a man in the center of the crowd was saying, and Draco stiffened, looking to Potter sharply. Surely he wasn’t going to let this man do magic in front of Muggles? “I’ll be needing a volunteer.”

Potter elbowed Draco and he stumbled. The man looked at him. “Thank you!” he said. “I’ll just need you to pick a card, any card!” He was holding out a deck of playing cards, all facing down. Draco reached out and took one, confused. “Show it to the audience, but don’t let me see,” he said, placing a hand over his eyes.

Draco showed Potter, then some of the other Muggles huddled around to observe.

“Done?” the man said.

“Yes,” said Draco.

“Stick it anywhere in the deck.” The man held out the deck, his hand still covering his eyes, and Draco slid his card back in with the others. “As you can see, I have no idea where your card is,” he said as he began to shuffle. He did so multiple times, then smacked the deck against his hand. “It’d be crazy for me to just pull your card out of this deck, right?”

“Certainly,” Draco agreed. Impossible, even.

The man grinned. He held up the deck, wiggled his fingers, and pulled one out. “Is _this_ your card?” he demanded.

“No,” said Draco. The man blinked. He looked at the card before laughing awkwardly.

“God, how embarrassing,” he said. He coughed, then coughed again, starting to look concerned. He raised his hand to his mouth, coughing so hard it was beginning to be alarming, before pulling a card out of his mouth. “Well, this wouldn’t happen to be your card, would it?”

It was. Draco was gaping, staring at the man in amazement. He hadn’t pulled out a wand or anything! He really was a Muggle! But, how…?

“How did you do that?” Draco demanded.

The man laughed. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he said. Draco opened his mouth to argue – yes they did, they taught everything they could in school, and everything they couldn’t was documented in books for anyone to read – but Potter pulled him away as the crowd was cheering.

“Seriously, how did he do that?” Draco demanded.

“Magic,” Potter said, wiggling his fingers similarly to how the man had done so, and Draco couldn’t help but snort. Whatever that Muggle had done… it was pretty cool.

They continued down the street, and Draco started to lose himself in Muggle London. Really, many of the things they’d invented to cope without having magic almost seemed like magic itself. No _lumos_, but they still had light. No Apparation, but they still had ways of getting places quickly, if their modes of transportation had anything to say for it.

Maybe Draco shouldn’t have mentioned that last bit to Potter, because soon he was leading him underground, sliding a card into some machine before stepping through metal barriers. They packed themselves onto the Muggle train – seemingly for _fun_ – and just stood there as it started to move. It was exceedingly crowded, all of the seats were taken, and Potter didn’t have the decency not to laugh as Draco held onto the metal bar above his head with a death grip.

At one point, the train jerked and Draco stumbled into Potter, his free hand coming up to latch onto his shirt as his face cracked painfully against his shoulder. Potter was still laughing, the absolute arse.

“This is by far their worst invention,” Draco muttered darkly, and then Potter waved his hand – a meaningless motion, at least to any Muggles watching – and Draco suddenly felt much sturdier, almost as if his feet were stuck to the floor. He looked at Potter with wide eyes.

“Did you just…?”

Potter shrugged. “Wandless magic,” he said. The train was so loud that no one else would hear him unless they were actively listening. “I was without my wand for a bit, during the war. Worst feeling in the world, being without magic.”

“That’s insane,” Draco said quietly. “I mean, most wizards study for years just to be able to cast _lumos_ without a wand.”

Potter didn’t seem to understand just how rare it was that he could do wandless magic, and so carelessly, too. But Draco couldn’t get it out of his head. He kept staring at Potter’s hands – Harry’s hands – suddenly aware of what they were capable of.

4:00 was encroaching on them, and despite it being something Draco never would’ve expected – he was dreading it. This day had been much more enjoyable than he could’ve ever imagined. Dare he say it, he was even having _fun_.

“Listen,” Potter said to him, when the two of them were settled in a Muggle park. There were children playing sports Draco had never heard of before, and people walking dogs on leashes. They were living perfectly normal lives, not realizing what they were missing out on. Not needing magic at all. “I’m glad you asked me to be your partner.”

“Technically, I asked Granger,” Draco pointed out. Potter ignored him.

“Today’s been kind of great,” he continued. “Everyone… everyone’s different, since the war. Except my friends,” he added. “And you.”

“I’d like to think I’m different,” Draco argued. “I haven’t tried to kill you once today.”

“You never wanted to kill me,” Potter pointed out. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was a reason Draco had failed so many times, that year.

Oh, who was he kidding? There was no maybe about it.

“Perhaps not,” Draco said loftily.

“You’re one of the few people who don’t put me on some kind of pedestal,” Harry said. He was looking at him earnestly, now. He’d always had this way about him. Like he showed too many emotions all at once. Like he wasn’t revealing too much of himself, just by making eye contact. “Who don’t expect me to be a certain way, or perfect.”

“You could never be perfect, Potter,” Draco said. “I mean, look at that hair.”

It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, but maybe it was the one he wanted: Harry smiled.

“I’m looking forward to our potions final,” Harry said, probably for the first time ever. And then, very suddenly, Draco had a hand pressed against his own. Like, palm-to-palm, fingers intertwined type deal. He wondered if his face was as red as it felt. He wondered if he was holding Harry’s hand as tightly as he was imagining.

“Me too,” he said stiffly. Only because he was re-learning how to speak. Had it been this hard as a child? Had words escaped him then as easily as they escaped him now?

“Draco,” Harry said, and Draco’s heart abandoned the perfect spot it’d built itself in his chest over the years and took a trip up to his throat, just for fun. Since when did Potter call him _Draco_? “This is… insane, maybe. Or maybe the fact that I’ve been wanting to do it for so long is what’s insane. But I really, really would like to kiss you. Someday.”

Draco was gaping. Like, open-mouth, attracting flies, _gaping_. And Potter was just staring at him.

It was a good thing they were holding hands, because the Portkey was in Harry’s pocket and without any contact between the two of them, Draco would’ve been left behind.

The next moment, they were back in their seats in their classroom, still holding hands. Draco pulled his away as he cleared his throat, getting to his feet. Harry’s eyes flashed with hurt. Students all around them were talking.

“Harry, I rode in an _Uber_,” Weasley was saying. But Potter was still looking at Draco.

“I look forward to helping you in potions,” Draco said cordially. And then, because he was incredibly, infallibly weak: “And I’ll take you up on that offer as well.”


End file.
